


The Greatest Hits

by TheWritingKat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Death, F/M, Multi, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3483404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingKat/pseuds/TheWritingKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of your existence, after a series of cataclysmic events leading to the end of the world, you await your death with memories of the all those you held near and dear and some not so dear. But which memory holds the greatest place in your heart? The time Bobby first found you? The day you met the Winchester? Or is it the first time you died and realized you always come back?</p><p>(A series of short stories involving various SPN characters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of your existence, after a series of cataclysmic events leading to the end of the world, you await your death with memories of the all those you held near and dear and some not so dear. But which memory holds the greatest place in your heart? The time Bobby first found you? The day you met the Winchester? Or is it the first time you died and realized you always come back? 
> 
> (A series of short stories involving various SPN characters.)

_I don’t know where you’re going  
But do you got room for one more troubled soul?_  


  


The girl who couldn’t die. 

You were a real world Kenny, a female Deadpool, a lady Lazarus – the list goes on. Something like you, with your ‘ability’, has no place in the world. Not even in a supernatural one. 

This finality you are currently facing, lying unmoving on the hard ground, seemingly broken, is long overdue. Of course, you’re not unfamiliar with the concept of dying. Sometimes it’s different - the quickening of your pulse, becoming too tired to keep your eyes open, getting cold. But this time it’s different.

This time you’re really going to die. 

You shouldn’t be sad though. You lead a good life – well good enough life. As good a life as one can have being a hunter. Lets just pretend you’re not a dying “freak-of-nature” who just caused the end of the world. 

It doesn’t matter that this death is justified, as you are, in the end, alone to face oblivion or perhaps non-existence. No more Dean, no more Sam, no more anyone. Just you, seconds maybe, away from expiring along with the entirety of the human race. Well sort of. We both know it’s much more complicated than that. 

So in your last moments alive, I have to ask. 

Which memories are closest to your heart?  


_This is the road to ruin  
And we’re starting at the end_

Lyrics: **Alone Together - Fall Out Boy**  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of future chapters will take place out of order like meeting Bobby, the Winchester, Crowley, etc.


	2. This Must Be the Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first meeting with Bobby.

_Home - is where I want to be_  
_But I guess I'm already there_  
_I come home she lifted up her wings_  
_Guess that this must be the place_

You can taste and smell the blood.

Your very first sight is seeing a dimly lit and very grubby warehouse ceiling. As your eyes slide down, you find yourself covered in red. Weak, but still alive, you let out a pitiful and choked cry. 

This is where your new life starts – clothes drenched in drying blood, every bone in your body aching, and total and utter confusion. You would one day explain the event as being similar to waking up from being black-out drunk in a strange bathtub with a kidney missing. There is nothing quite as horrifying as not remembering what events lead to this.

“The hell?!” Your eyes travel to the source of the voice. 

Above you a grizzled and worn looking man, dressed in red plaid and a baseball cap looms over your field of vision. His somewhat graying brown beard does nothing to make him look like a harmless old man. In truth, he looks like a man who hasn’t known a happy day in his life. 

As if suddenly regaining your motor features, you dart up and away from him, almost falling over yourself as you topple a few paces away from him, forced to take a knee, looking at him with wild fear. 

“Please-“ That’s all you’re able to get out before you fall on both knees, fisting the ground. Nevertheless, you look up at him from your awkward position, breathing heavily and say, “Please don’t hurt me.”

He looks at you with doubt, squinting his eyes as if to look into your very soul, before taking out a flask, uncorking it, and splashing the contents onto your bloodied body. You flinch, letting out a pitiful squeak at the sudden shower of water. He waits for a few seconds, letting the water trickle down your face and bloodied clothes. 

“Please, I’m not-“ 

Not what? You’re not entirely sure where you were going with that. Your eyes grow heavy and your breathing quickens. It’s so hard to breath. 

“Please,” you beg one last time, before your hands give out and you crash to the floor. Darkness overtaking you.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best of meetings with the man who would become like a father to you. At present, you would find yourself awakened to being tied to a chair in a place surprisingly more frightening than a dirty warehouse. After several minutes of heavy breathing, struggling, and a mild panic attack you assess you’re in what appears to be a basement.

“Good, you’re up.” Your heart seizes once more in terror as the hardened-man from before presents himself before you, arms crossed, and somehow looking even more surly. 

The man in question welcomes you like any clear-headed hunter man would.

He is quite kind with you even going so far as to keep you tied you to the chair offer you a chair and give you a meal of salt crammed down your throat. Next, a light bath of holy water again, followed by slitting your arm a gentlemen’s agreement, all to lead to the conclusion that you are not a shifter, fairy, zombie, demon, etc.

For your own safety of course. Truthfully, after everything you went through with the man, it’s easy to joke about the whole thing. But that’s usually the case with thinking back on one’s past. 

“Please...”

“You should be dead!” You flinch at his declaration, too tired and weak to defend yourself.

“The hell are you?” If anything the question is rhetorical, but in your current stupor you didn’t know. 

“Human…” Weakly, you pull at the rope, but it doesn’t budge. In silent defeat, your head lulls forward. You would be crying if not for being so tired. “Please… just stop… I can’t…” 

Again you pass out from the pain and wariness of your body and drift in and out of consciousness. Strangely, during this haze you swear you feel the cold of your body replaced by warmth, as if being cocooned. It’s not until you awaken fully, in what appears to be a darkly lit living room, wrapped tightly in an old-style knitted blanket, laying on a couch, do you realize you’re no longer in the basement. 

It takes you a minute to adjust to the darkened surroundings, your body still too weak to move, to see the grizzled man in a chair in front of you, more or less asleep. It’s a wonder he hasn’t fallen out of his chair, his head lulled forward like that. Beside him is a Rottweiler, lounging at his feet staring up at you with big eyes. Just as you’re about to attempt mobility his head jerks back and his eyes snap open, returning your gaze. The dog lifts his head, but the man gives him a look and immediately the dog puts his head back down.

“Why?” You ask, the words hoarse in your throat. 

“Why?” He parrots. You feel yourself shrink further into the blanket. 

“Why am I here?” His eyes narrow again and his hard look returns.

“Why are you alive you mean? Good question.” It’s all you can do not to start crying. This man is going to kill you, you think. One way or another.

He sighs heavily, shaking his head. “Look I ain’t gonna kill ya. I just wanna know a few things.”

There’s a long awkward length of silence before you croak out, “About what?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it, stands up and head out of sight somewhere behind you. The Rottweiler stands up and instead of following the man, stalks over to you. Holding out a hand you let him sniff and lick it. You can’t help but smile, and despite a hoarse throat and achy body, you thank your questionable karma that you don’t have use the bathroom. In the state you’re currently in, wrapped in a blanket on a couch, you doubt the man would be keen on helping you relieve yourself.

Your thoughts are broken when you hear the sound of running water, from what you can only assume is the sink, followed by his return. The dog returns to his lounging spot by the chair. In the man’s hand, he holds a glass of water which he kindly props you up to drink from. Drinking far too fast and with the vigor a dying man, you begin to choke on the water, forcing him to take it away and you to squirm in pain from the jerks in movement from your coughs. 

“Alright, lets try this again,” he states when your body finally stops convulsing, setting the nearly empty glass beside his chair. “What is your name?”

You give him your name.

“Do you remember how you wound up in that warehouse?” 

“No, please, I don’t. I’m not.” You’re afraid your lack of answers will upset him enough to hurt you.

He sighs deeply and asks, “Do you have family?”

“I don’t… I can’t…”

“Do you remember a woman named, Beatrice?” You search your memory, but the only name you know is your own. 

“No, I don’t. I swear!” His frown deepens. You find out later that is the name of your grandma. 

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, kid.” He pauses to sigh, his face clearly struggling not to appear mad or hostile. “What do you remember before waking up in that warehouse?”

“Nothing.”

Absolutely and completely nothing. If you were honest with him, you would have told him it felt like you awoke from a very long sleep. As if you were born into the world for the first time. But even in your frazzled state you knew that would come out as delirious. 

“But you know your name?”

“Yes.”

“Your parents?”

“No.” You wet your lips. “I mean, I don’t know if I had any. I mean-“

“I get it, kid.” You give a small nod, very pleased you haven’t upset him.

“Can I… Can I ask you a question?” He sighs tiredly.

“Might as well.”

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Bobby.” You repeat the name, but it does nothing. No sudden jolts of remembrance.

“Oh, ok,” you mutter dumbly. “I don’t know a Bobby. Do I?”

“No, kid. You don’t know me.” 

You shallow loudly and ask, “Why am I here?”

For a long while he just stares at you. He stares at you so long you wonder if he somehow didn’t hear you. Fear envelops you once more, the anticipation so thick it chokes you. 

“Couldn’t leave you there.” The answer wasn’t worth the build-up.

“Oh.” The situation turns awkward once more. “Don’t I have a family?”

For a brief moment you swear his face crumples or at least winces a bit. “Not anymore, kid.”

“Oh.” 

The words should make you sad, more depressed even, but you feel nothing. You can’t miss what you don’t remember. That fact alone depresses you more than having no family. To this day you wonder why you never felt the need to be depressed over an absent family. 

“Did they die?” He frowns, clearly not pleased with your question. Perhaps it’s insensitive, you think.

“Your parents died when you were in diapers,” Bobby explains. “Your grandma raised you.”

“Oh, where is she?” 

“Missing,” his tone betrays more suspicion. 

“Oh.” That really should have been your nickname from then on. The ‘oh’ girl.

“I think it’s time you got some rest,” he states sternly. It wasn’t a request.

“Oh, ok.” You’re suddenly aware you’re saying ‘oh’ a lot. “Are you going to… watch me?”

He looks to himself then back to you. “No, seems you’ve suffered enough without me watching you, but don’t get too comfy here. There’s a lot we need to discuss tomorrow.”

“Ok,” you mumble, suddenly terrified of being alone. He nods and leaves without another word. The dog follows him loyally out of the room. 

You thought that was the end of it that he left you, but a few minutes later, as you stare blankly at the empty chair, he returns with another blanket in hand. You remain absolutely still as he drapes a hardy blanket over your curled form. When he’s done you stare up at him, eyes wide and confused. His own face lightens considerably at your, truthfully, pathetic appearance. 

“Thank you.” 

“No worries, kid,” he mumbles out, a hint of guilt laced within the voice. He begins to walk away again, this time for the night. 

“Bobby.”

“Yes?”

“Why am I here me? You saved me from something, right? Why?” There is a long moment of silence.

“It’s what I do, kid.” 

You don’t bother to reply and he doesn’t bother to wait as you hear his footsteps grow further away. The lights go dark and you’re left alone on his couch to stare at the darkness. And for awhile you just listen, you don’t think about anything. Eventually your eyes shut as tried tears are released. 

When your eyes open again you find yourself staring at a stack of what appears to be a towel and various articles of clothing on the chair in front of you. The sound of clanging dishes behind you leads you to believe Bobby is awake. With somewhat better strength than yesterday, you untangle yourself from the blankets and slowly prop yourself up, mindful of your sore muscles. This only goes so far as to you trying to stand up, only the slide back down with a thud. 

“You up, kid?” You don’t have time to answer as he appears with a mug, of what you assume is coffee, in hand. 

“Yes,” you mutter looking down at yourself to see your top and pants covered in dried blood. In the light of day it’s worse than you could have ever imagined. 

“You probably should wash up a bit, kid. The bathroom is just down the hall.” He thumbs towards the bathroom. 

You nod, staring down at yourself in silence, but obey his directions. Finding the correct room you enter the modest shower room, complete with a toilet, mirror, and a sink. As you go to turn on the water, not yet realizing you forgot a change of clothes and towel, you catch your reflection in the mirror. 

As soon as you do you just stare at yourself in the mirror and sob, silent as you as can, covering your mouth so Bobby doesn’t know. It’s not so much tears of sorrow, but of joy. You remember this face staring back at you. Most of all you cry because you’re alive. Not dead in that dingy warehouse or in the basement. 

You are alive – for better or worse. 

A knock on the doors brings you back to reality. “Hey, kid.” You open the door to reveal Bobby holding a folded towel, a plaid shirt, a belt, and blue jeans. 

“I don’t have much in the way of clothes for women, but I thought you’d might like a shower and fresh clothes to change into.” You obediently accept them, staring at him at him in wonder before finally thanking him.

“Just, when you get out we need to talk about a few things.”

“Ok.” You can accept that. “I understand.”

Propping the articles of clothing and towel on the toilet seat, you slowly begin to peel off your disgusting top and pants, now caked in blood. Standing in nothing more than your bra and panties, you go about examining each cut and bruise littering your skin. From the mirror you can see a thin scar along your neck, not easily noticeable without staring. 

Is that what Bobby meant by you should be dead? 

No way. No way, a fatal throat wound would leave just a barely visible scar like yours. Scanning down there are no other cuts and bruises that would suggest you had been stabbed, shot, or whatever, anywhere on your body. You reaffirm this once the warm water of the shower washes any stray blood and dirt. 

Embarrassed or not, you cry for the majority of your cleanse.

Though your clothes suggest you literally bled out there is no evidence anywhere on your body. Other than your sore muscles, everything is functioning, and the warm shower only helps the ache leaving you feeling fresh and renewed. Once you’re sated by the warmth, you step out and dry yourself. You are able to dress yourself in Bobby’s clothes to feel somewhat clean. It’s then you grimace at the fact you have to reuse your bra and underwear. 

You can’t help but crack a smile at your vagabond appearance in the mirror. It’s best described as redneck hobo, as the shirt is way too big for you and the pants, even with the belt, make you look like a child trying to be an adult. With a heavy sigh and shake of your head, you gather your dirty clothes and leave the bathroom to find Bobby seemingly waiting for you on the chair he probably slept on for half the night.

“Ready to have a chat, kid?” He states looking up at your appearance with a humorous glance. You feel a bit self-conscious with your appearance, but you nod quickly taking a seat on the sofa that had been your bed. 

“You should probably toss those clothes. I doubt you’d want to hold onto them.” You agree, but when you go to find a way to dispose of them, he takes them from you and commands you sit down. 

“Yes, um, thanks for the clothes.” When he returns he accepts your thanks, his face growing sterner.

“Soon as we figure this mess out we’ll look into finding you some real clothes.” You nod again. 

“U-Understood.” And thus begin a series of questions of answers.

“Full name?”

You give it to him - first and last. 

“Beatrice?”

“…What? I don’t know who she is.”

That’s when Bobby told you, you lived with your grandma, Beatrice. As it turned out you were involved in some sort of demonic sacrifice, kidnapped along with other girls in a random town in South Dakota. When Bobby finally found you, you were the only one dead at the scene. Well you and the man responsible for the kidnapping. The rest of the girls were tied up in the back, shaken-up, but not injured. 

“They all said they didn’t know why they were being targeted, but they had seen you being the first to get chosen for the ‘blood-letting’.”

Bobby claimed you had died from a bleeding out, your throat slit open. When he informed your grandmother of the incident she admitted to knowing of your fate and begging him to take care of it. If that wasn’t strange enough, Bobby claimed that after hanging up and exploring the building one last time, you awoke before his very eyes.

“What about my grandmother?” His face goes pensive.

“Gone. Skipped town maybe. Just disappeared.”

“Oh.”

“Any ideas where she might have gone?” He leans in a bit, as if to gauge if you’re lying. 

“I don’t even know what she looks like. I don’t know where I used to live,” you confess looking down at your shaky hands, thumbing the lines with your other hand. 

“Okay, what do you remember?”

“Umm, my name, how old I am, a variety of pop culture references, my favorite color-“

“I mean anything about what happened to you or your family?” You flinch at his authoritative tone, looking up at him nervously. 

“No, but are you like the police or FBI?” In hindsight it was a stupid thing to ask. Why would a cop or FBI agent take you to his house? “I mean, I think you said I don’t know you, so why am here? Where is here even? If you’re not going to hurt me why am I still here?”

He takes a deep breath. “It’s… balls.” You patiently wait for him to continue.

“My name is Bobby Singer. We’re in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I’m a hunter. I hunt demons, ghosts, all sorts of supernatural beings. And kid, I’ll be honest with you, you were attacked by a demon.”

“Oh, how do you know?” He appears somewhat confused by your question, as if it’s weird to ask. 

“… A high amount of sulfur in the warehouse for one and demonic etching for another.”

“Oh… that makes sense, I guess.” He could have told you he was really God and you would have believed him honestly. At present you were like half-baked dough, ready to mold into whatever. In fact he could have told you were an alien from another planet and you would have believed him.

“I’d let you go, but seeing as your direct family is dead or missing and you don’t remember havin’ any other family, I’m not sure exactly what to do with you at the moment.”

“So you’re not going to kick me out?” The question comes out more like a pled. The thought of being alone in the world terrifies you more than shacking up with a stranger. 

“Not until we get this sorted out,” he says rubbing his eyes with great fatigue. “I’ll look into some leads on your relatives.”

And that’s just what he does. With the minimum knowledge of your past, you help him in other ways. Namely helping with researching the events that took place in Harrisburg, South Dakota – the place where the demonic kidnapping took place. 

In that time, despite walking on eggshells around the seasoned hunter, you truly did whatever he asked of you and in return he gave you new clothes, food, and place to stay. Jokingly, after everything settled between you two, you would blame your dedication to Stockholm syndrome. You didn’t get the impression he thought it was that funny. At least Rumsfeld, his dog, understands you, you joke. Next to Bobby he’s your best friend, at least for now as you had yet to meet the boys and – well that’s a story for later. 

At present you are patiently waiting for Bobby to get off the phone with someone from Harrisburg, South Dakota. You had learned a lot about the man in the past week. To put it plainly, he was a resourceful ‘hunter’ with a lot of contacts with other hunters and despite being surly at times he was very kind. Kind enough to let you mooch off him this past week while he dug around for clues on your past anyways.

“Right, uh huh.” You try to decipher the conversion from a few of his words, but are so far unsuccessful. Rumsfeld seems to sense your anxiousness, as he sweetly nudges your hand to which you reward with loving pets. 

“Thanks for the update, officer.” You hear Bobby hang up the phone followed by a ‘balls’. That’s Bobby code for bad news. You even spy him rub his forehead – a really bad sign.

“Hey, kid, you there?” In the past week you had grown use to the pet-name. 

“Yes, do you need something?” You duck your head back from the sofa, focusing your attention on Rumsfeld. His footsteps tell you he’s bringing the news straight to you. Rumsfeld takes his position by his master as Bobby takes a seat on the chair across from you.

“So here’s what I found out…”

In short, the body of your grandmother was never found as neither was yours, obviously. A popular theory of the police force was you and your grandmother left, despite the statements of some of the kidnapped girls. The kidnapper, one Jason Miller – mild manner accountant from California – was found dead at the scene from unknown cause. It’s nothing Bobby doesn’t already know, except for the fact that some of the girls claim they heard at least two other people, but were unable to elaborate further. 

“So do you think those other three people were involved?” You look to Bobby for answers, but he appears to be thinking so you continue. “Some of the other girls say they saw me carried out and killed, but it’s weird there are so many people missing.”

There’s more questions than answers to be honest. 

“That’s what the report says,” Bobby grumps. “I got nothin’.”

Shutting your eyes you think long and hard about the event, but once again come up with nothing. All you remember is waking up in that warehouse, the smell of blood all around you, and being terrified. Maybe…

“Maybe if I go back there I could remember,” you supply. Your enthusiasm isn’t shared. Bobby just continues to look thoughtful and unresponsive.

“Not possible, not for awhile at least,” he finally answers, looking you in the eye with a thoughtful expression. “But this could be a chance for a new start.”

“What do you mean? What happens now?” Bobby sighs deeply and stands up. 

“I drop you off a woman’s shelter. I’m sure you want to move on with your life.” You feel like someone just dumped a bucket of water on you. 

“Wait, but what if… what if the demon comes back?!”

“The demon’s dead, kid. Whatever killed him was pretty thorough.” No! You didn’t want to lose your only connection to your new life. 

“But, what if I stay with you and help?!” The words come out before you have time to think. 

“Help? With what, kid? No offense, but you aren’t hunter material.” What does that even mean? Either way you don’t care.

“Please, Bobby! I can… I can help you track monster. I can be bait. Please!” Your begging falls on deaf ears. 

“No dice, kid. The kind of stuff I do ain’t for kids.” You feel like crying. You want to beg him not to abandon you. Without him you’re all alone. 

“I can learn! I won’t disappoint you!”

“The answer is no!” You shrink down in your seat, trying your best not to cry. If you start crying now, you’ll just prove how much of a kid you really are. 

“Listen to me… You don’t want to get mixed up in this kind of life. I know it won’t be easy for you, but a fresh start away from this is all is best.”

The pain of being alone is too much bear. You could blackmail him, tell him if he lets you go you’ll tell everyone he hurt and kidnapped you, but you don’t. As angry as you are for being abandoned like this, there’s no point in provoking him. 

“I have no one in the world anymore. I know I can help you. I can pull my weight, I could learn, but I won’t argue anymore.” You stand up, clenching your fists, trying not to cry. It terrifies you to be alone. “Thanks a lot, Bobby Singer. For saving me and all.” 

It doesn’t occur to you what you’re asking for, a life as a hunter. “I-I’ll wait outside.” You don’t understand a lot at that moment, but anything is better than being alone.

“…How do you feel?”

You could lie and say great, but you don’t. “I’m sore, but I can walk.”

“What happened to you is a bonafided miracle, kid.” You look back at him as he stares in front of him, as if looking past you. “No human gets to walk away from something like that.”

He turns to you and looks you dead in the eye. “So I’m going to say this one time and one time only. I’ll let you stay with me...” Your heart immediately soars. “If you allow me to test you for signs of non-human attributes, not just the common ones I already did, and you listen to every word I say, and do what I say with no back sass. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir!” There’s no hiding your jubilee. “Whatever you need from me I’ll do. You can test my blood, skin samples anything I-“

“Ok, ok, I get it, kid. I just want to make sure you won’t turn into anything or some such nonsense. I’m not going to debase you or nothin’.” Words cannot describe how happy you are in that moment.

“Whatever you need, Bobby. I’m the man, er, girl for the job. I won’t let you down,” you all but sing. 

“Alright, but one toe out of line and-“

“Understood, sir.” He grimaces.

“Don’t call me sir, kid.”

“Yes, sir, er, Bobby. I’ll shut up now.” 

So the idea of being an orphan should have bothered you, but it didn’t nearly as much as one would think. After all it’s hard to miss someone you don’t remember, even if they are family, but perhaps that why you tried so hard to win Bobby’s approval. Everyone needs a human connection after all.

“Well don’t get too comfortable, girl,” he states getting up from his seat. “You’re gone first thing in the morning if you don’t pull your weight.”

He says those same words for over a month, and each day you do everything you can to assist him in his jobs.

If he needed a grave dug, you dug it. Needed research? You stayed up all night reading and searching the web. Eventually, over a lengthy amount of time, you grow on him and slowly he began to trust you. Of course you welcomed it.

And for the longest time, a whole year in fact, it’s just you, Bobby, and Rumsfeld. Well that and all the hunting incidents in between, one of which resulting in your death and rebirth soon after without much fanfare. It would be the first of many, but you don’t really want to remember that do you? 

Needless to say, it would quite awhile for you to be a hunter worth boasting about. You can imagine Dean Winchester saying the same thing. After all your first introduction to him – well that’s a very long story.

_I can't tell one from another_  
_Did I find you, or you find me?_  
_There was a time before we were born_  
_If someone asks, this where I'll be . . . where I'll be_

Lyrics: **This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody) – Talking Heads**


End file.
